Bully
by larrydrarryklaine
Summary: All his life Harry and his friends have tormented Louis. This year, however, things change. A Badboy!Harry Larry Stylinson fanfiction.


**ATTENTION: THIS STORY IS ABOUT A BAND THAT I CREATED IN MY HEAD. THE BAND IS CALLED "NO DIRECTION" AND THE MEMBERS ARE AS FOLLOWS:  
-HARRY STILES  
-LOUIS THOMLINSON  
-ZAYN MALICK  
-LIAM PAIN  
-NIALL HORAM  
ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS STORY ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY LIKENESS TO ACTUAL PEOPLE AND/OR EVENTS IS COMPLETELY COINCIDENTAL AND UNINTENTIONAL. **

**A/N: I'M BACK (with a new username)! I am incredibly sorry for not posting anything in so long I feel terrible! For whatever reason this fic took me FOREVER to write. But I'm back now, Hope you enjoy! And as usual if the formatting is off I'm sorry but I have no clue how to fix it.**

"Hey Thomlinson!" Harry shouted in a way that made my own last name sound like an insult. "Why don't you stop and chat for a minute?" I sped up. I had been so sure that if I just stuck to the shadows and ducked around the taller kids he wouldn't find me and I could make my way to English in peace. Of course I couldn't, of course he found me, of course I couldn't be normal for five fucking minutes. Harry's footsteps pounded behind me along with those of the rest in his crew. Since the first day of kindergarten Harry, Liam, Zayn, and Niall had always been the most popular and ruthless group in school. They called themselves 'The Brigade,' fucking twats. The very mention of their names made boys cower in fear, girls shiver in want, and parents shake their heads in disapproval. They were constantly the talk of the town. The brains behind every party and every crime. But the worst by far was Harry. He lived on rebellion, practically breathed cigarettes and fed on the ink of tattoos. He had been emancipated when he was seventeen, for reasons unknown to anyone but him and his father, and at the current age of eighteen practically lived in a large van. Harry only ever seemed to use his actual home for parties and fucking the occasional slut worthy of more than the old shag carpeting in the back of his Volkswagen.

A force suddenly pulled me back by the collar of my shirt, gagging me on the fabric, and spun me around to face the sinister eyes of Harry and his boys. Zayn, a darker skinned boy with round brown eyes and a straight jaw, removed his hand from the back of my shirt and lifted me up by the front instead. Liam, a friendly looking boy despite his true violent nature, whispered something to Niall whose blue eyes immediately sparkled as his face split in a cruel laugh. Harry stared like he always does, with a smirk on his face and his muscular, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Tattoos, the boy was covered in the damn things. They coated every inch of his arms and neck, seeping slightly into his jaw line and face in small patches like they were slowly swallowing him up. None of them appeared to have any sort of real meaning. They were all just various symbols of 'manliness.' A shark here, a half naked women there, things like that. They were almost always visible too; he rarely wore anything other than t-shirts and jeans, with the occasional black leather jacket. A classic bad-boy.

"Why the rush Tommo?" Harry said to me as the halls began to clear out. Plenty of people walked by us, saw the situation I was in, and did nothing. Looked me dead in the eyes and just walked away like I was invisible. Bastards.

"Hey, faggot!" Zayn shook me roughly causing my skull to crack against the wall I was pushed up against. "He asked you a question."

"I needed to get to class." I said, trying to hide the pain in my voice, but Harry could tell. Harry could always tell.

"Oh no," Harry said with mock concern. "Are we making you late for class Thomlinson? Are we annoying you? Oh please don't say we're annoying you, I'd hate that." I glared at him. He chuckled. All he had to do was utter the simple words "Do it, boys." and Zayn dropped me and began kicking me, along with Liam and Niall. With their feet all stabbing me from different directions it wasn't long before I blacked out.

…

I was out for a short period of time, class had barely started when I had woken up and I could easily have gotten away with the excuse of needing to use the bathroom or forgetting a book in my locker but I couldn't bring myself to do it. School had been slowly but surely becoming less and less appealing to me. The teachers were idiots, the work kept piling, my friends were losers, and I couldn't escape the fucking Brigade no matter where I went. Sitting through another forty-five minutes of a middle-aged hag drone on and on about the importance of commas was simply not an option for me, but I couldn't go home either. My mum was probably there, along with the twins, and she would have a heart attack if she knew her only son had dared to skip class. So I shakily stood up on my sore legs and walked right past the hallways that led to English and the front doors, and instead went for the staircase hidden in the dusty corner of a scarcely used hallway. I think the steel door guarding the stairwell was supposed to be locked, but it never has been any time I've used it. The door seemed like it was rarely ever opened by anyone other than myself, considering the large squeak of protest it gave as I opened it, so I doubt any faculty member had ever bothered to even consider locking it. As I entered I didn't even bat an eye before I headed up the stairs until I couldn't go any higher. I shoved open a heavy metal door, identical to the first, at the top of the stairs and was immediately hit with the unfavorably cold January air. The slight breeze bit at my skin, even under my thick hoodie, and I shivered as I made my way across the smooth, black surface of the rooftop.

Out of all the places in school, the roof is my favorite. The weather may suck from time to time but it's always quiet. No one could see me or find me. If the Brigade ever did find me I don't what I'd do. This is the only quiet place I have left. At school it's either them or my friends bothering me and at home it's my parents. That or they're bothering each other, screaming more like, until their throats are sore and my sisters are crying. I groan with frustration as I sit somewhat precariously on the edge of the roof, my legs dangling over the side and my arse planted on the small cement border that is somehow supposed to stop people from falling over. If I were to fall I don't think anyone would care, not really anyway. My family barely notices me as it is; the only time they ever seem to actually care is when I fuck up. Then all the attention is on me. My friends might care. I will admit they are nice people; they are just so ridiculously boring and stuck in their ways they make me want to scream. How can one person go through the same routine day after day and be content with that? I do it and I can barely breathe sometimes, it drives me so fucking crazy.

Maybe I was too lost in thought to hear the creak of the steel door or notice the wafting scent of tobacco and cologne, or maybe I did hear and notice and I just let happen subconsciously. I'm not sure which; all I know is that it was too late to run by the time I heard a husky voice say,

"You look like you could use a smoke."

I jumped forwards slightly and turned around at the low drawl of Harry's voice, nearly flinging myself over the edge of the roof. He chuckled slightly from where he was standing alone, thank God, and leaning against the frame of the door with a lit cigarette in his hand and smoke blowing quickly out of his mouth and whipping away with the wind.

"Mind if I take a seat?" He asked coolly and I said nothing. It felt wrong, unnatural to see him here. This was my place, my safe haven, he was never supposed to find me, how dare he find me? At my lack of response Harry laughed again and sat down beside me, far too close for comfort. His legs dangled much lower and just _larger_ than mine over the edge and the smell of tobacco that seemed to cling to his skin nearly suffocated me. All of a sudden I went through a sort of 'second-shock' like I had forgotten whom he was and how big he was and who I was and how easily he could crush in my skull or push me over the edge if he wished to do so. Which is why I sat there for what felt like hours just paralyzed in fear and when he handed me his box of cigarettes I nearly fell to my death for a second time that day.

"Jesus Tomlinson, do I really scare you that badly?" He laughed out, but when I said nothing and merely stared at him with wide eyes his smile faded slightly and the humor escaped from his eyes. "I guess I do."

But then after a moment of tense silence his cocky smirk was back on his lips and the teasing light was back in his eyes and I hated him all over again. "Do you want a fuckin' smoke or not?"

I shook my head but he kept staring at me like that wasn't enough so I managed to whisper out a quiet, "No."

"Why's that?"

"I dunno." I internally cringed at how weak and frightened I sounded and how Harry clearly noticed and smiled at the fact.

"It'll warm you up! I can tell you're cold." He stuffed his cigarette between his lips and pulled another one out along with a lighter.

"I'm fine." I tried to sound at least somewhat stern but the second cigarette was already being held out to me, his was already lit and puffing out a long stream of smoke from where it dangled between his chapped lips, and Harry kept looking at me with large expectant eyes. I took it slowly, feeling slightly scared of both Harry and the cigarette, and stared for a few seconds before I realized I had no idea what I was doing. Harry must've thought the same thing because he snorted loudly and took the cigarette into his larger, ink-coated fingers.

"Let me help you out there, Tommo." He chuckled as he raised the awfully fragrant stick to my lips with one hand and wrapped the other hand gently around the back of my neck. He fished his lighter out from one of his back pockets again and lit the cigarette. I froze immediately at the clicking and slight woosh sounds the lighter made.

"Breath in." He directed with a soft chuckle as he brought it in between my lips, and I did, immediately coughing and spluttering from the horrible stinging feeling, causing Harry to burst out in laughter and retract both his hands along with the cigarette.

"Not like that, dipshit! Now," He said bringing his hands back where they were. "Breathe in, but hold it in your mouth, don't let it go down your throat yet." I did as he said and it still wasn't the best feeling in the world but it was better.

"Good." He said, pulling the cigarette out of my lips. "Now I want you to breathe in, but not to here." He brought two fingers up to my throat and pressed them slightly onto my Adam's apple causing my face to flush deeply and a smile to break out on his. "To here." He trailed his fingers down slowly and pressed them just below the center of my chest. I took a deep breath, following his instructions, and felt the thick air travel down deep into my body.

"Now let it out." Harry said softly and we both watched in awe at the smoke leaving my mouth and blending and disappearing into the air, like neither of us could believe that had just happened.

"You, Louis Thomlinson," Harry said as he stubbed out the mostly wasted cigarette on the tar of the rooftop. "Have just smoked your first cigarette."

Then things happened quickly. Harry was smiling, and his hand was still on my neck, and we both noticed, and he frowned, and my eyes got wider, and he got closer, and his breath was on my lips, and his fingers curled in my hair, he yanked me forward and he kissed me, he kissed hard and firm and his lips didn't feel chapped at all and he was gone. Whipped away by the wind and rushed out of the atmosphere. Just like the smoke.

**A/N: Did you like it so far? I do, this is has defiantly been one of my favorite fics to write so far. Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you think in a review!**


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